


Anything Helpful

by NothingToDoWithMe



Series: Anything [5]
Category: The Goodies RPF
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Female SEVENTEEN, In-Jokes, Oral Sex, Some Humor, Suspicions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 17:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19381336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingToDoWithMe/pseuds/NothingToDoWithMe
Summary: An unexpected way of getting over Writer's Block for Bill. Serious stuff can come from spur-of-the-moment decisions.





	Anything Helpful

**Author's Note:**

> I want to apologise for this because it is really feels too personal to publish - but remember it's just meant to be sexy fiction [it developed into a kind of festival of over-the-top oral!]. The problem is, Bill does make these titillating throwaway comments in his real-life autobiographical writings. What else is Miss K meant to think when she reads 'we had a mother's help, who occasionally helped father a bit as well', eh? I ask you! As usual, the psychoanalyst in her took over and started making all kinds of weird extra stuff up. Again, there is NO real basis for 99% of this and it's just a mental workout. I have to get this stuff - er, I mean, Miss K has to get this stuff out of her system. Oh, and I don't know whether 17 is considered underage - I don't see why it should be, if you're allowed to get married then - I made the age up as well. Lastly, the marital rape is only imagined, kindly note, and I have no wish to pry into the real reasons for their divorce. I didn't know and it's private, so I made the breakdown vague and creeping.

The end of another family lunch. And another week is slipping by. Somehow, he and J haven’t been able to ‘get it together’ for longer than B likes to remember. It’s worrying, and not simply because he loves his wife and delights in showing her just how much. No; it’s compounded by the nagging doubts about why she might not be feeling the same way. Her excuses are getting so weak they deaden his heart. He’s allowed her the usual week’s grace in case it’s the monthly thing (like an idiot, he never remembers to mark his diary). There have been sniffles, headaches, backaches, stomach aches, tiredness (what?! But he would do all the work!) the children needing her in the night, accounts – yes, accounts! – she must stay up and complete, for flip’s sake. (Really? Or what is she really doing?) Letters to write – ha! To whom, she won’t say. Just routine, but hastily put away when he asks too many questions.

Unwillingly, he lets that persistent dark thought into his mind again. J, a singer, goes away sometimes for work – as, indeed, does he (and birding trips). And he’s not her first husband. Is she still entirely his? Quite a few times he’s been tempted, himself, but never broken his vows. There are the children, for goodness’ sake – in fact, right in his line of vision now, wriggling to get down, having finished throwing food at themselves and each other, and incidentally eating a little. He smiles at by far the two best works he’s ever helped create. Which was immense fun in itself, he remembers fondly. B sometimes daydreams about an alternative fantasy life where his wife demands more and more babies from him – perhaps because she wants a boy and they keep having more girls – and he gives in every time because she _persuades_ him so _sweetly_! Mm-hmmm...  An illogical daydream because, by mutual consent, J is now using contraception – two perfect girls is just fine for both of them – but it makes him smile as the flattering scenes of his beloved begging him constantly to ‘fuck her firmly till she falls’ flash through his head once more.  Well, there’s one service he knows he could provide to her complete satisfaction.

Then a frown intrudes, as he recalls the last unfinished script of the forthcoming tv series on his desk upstairs: just like his anatomy, it’s becoming more of an irritant the longer it sits untouched. Writer’s block is something B’s never experienced before and the very idea scares him witless. Unlike his other problem, it doesn’t even have a crude remedy. The thing just has to be written and the arrangement, as usual, is 50:50 – with the ball now firmly in his court. He has so many ideas but just can’t unjumble them – what business do those words have, refusing to flow? Oh, they will eventually. If only he could fix the other teaser first…

His gaze falls – with negligible risk of injury, it has to be said – on their Mother’s Help, who is washing up in the galley kitchen. Aha! Maybe the girl would take the kids out for a long walk! Pleased with his brainwave, B leans back in his dining chair and imagines being alone in the calm and privacy of a child-free house. But he isn’t planning to tackle the writing first, oh, no. Surely, with the children out, he will have no trouble in tempting his graceful wife (he still hasn’t worked out how he ever managed to land a knockout like her) up the stairs to their sunny bedroom… Maybe daytime would work better for her anyway, if she’s always tired at night. Work can come later: ‘ladies first’ is a very good rule!

But he doesn’t make the mistake of getting so lost in his pleasant daydreams as to forget to take action to make them come true. Initially bestowing a fond smile upon his somewhat fidgety wife, B slowly lifts his gaze to the Help’s back.

B:        Ahem. M, my dear? It’s a lovely day. Why don’t you take the girls out for some air when you’ve finished that?

But the girl is clattering plates and doesn’t seem to hear.

J          [Muttering from behind him:] I’ll tell you now, she can’t.

B         [Turning back to her in bewilderment:] Oh? Why not?

J:         Tut, B, you’ve forgotten again – it’s Wednesday!

J gets up and starts bustling about, cleaning their youngest and removing her from her high chair. He’d thought she’d been impatient for him to finish eating – but what’s the rush? B twists around to query his wife as she flits behind him.

B:        So what?

J:         Her half day, Dopey! She’ll be off out in a few minutes. Don’t fret, though, I’m going to take the children out myself for the whole afternoon so you can have peace and quiet.

She sets the much cleaner toddler on the floor by her sister.

           Yes! Mummy’s taking you to the Toyshop! And the Park!

A predictably eager cacophony ensues. They sense an ice cream opportunity!

From her triumphant aspect, J evidently expects B to be pleased with her.

           You see? I remembered you’ve got that script to finish, darling, so I thought I’d give you some peace and quiet. It’s all taken care of, don’t fret!

J leans over, puts her arm around B’s neck from behind and pats – not even kisses – the top of his head, as though he were her third child. He takes a moment to quell his annoyance. She is trying to help – and is quite correct; he remembers with a guilty start promising G he’d have the script ready for them to go over first thing Thursday. But her sudden closeness only makes his longings stronger. Not quite everything is taken care of. _I will just have to be very firm with her tonight!_ Good gag…the quickness of his ribaldry makes him relax somewhat. He’s still got it! He turns and rises to try and plant a kiss on his wife (somewhere more sensual than the location she picked for contact with him), but she’s moved off again.

_Save it up, B. Stick it in the oven for later. If there’s room._

B:        Oh…thanks, love! Yes, you’re right; I’d nearly forgotten the deadline – I suppose it would help if I knew what day it was, eh?! You are a lifesaver.

His house full of females goes aloft to get ready, leaving B ruminating. He paces the room, trying to encourage his brain to focus on the plot – it seemed a simple set-up at their initial meeting, but it’s turned out quite complex now G’s been working it up, and there’s so much to fill in yet. Whilst visualising an effect, B finds himself looking out of the window and getting distracted – until he hears the others all trooping downstairs again.

B drifts into the hall to see his family off. He observes young M by the front door, locked into a prolonged goodbye-larks session with the excited children; their peep-bo games annoying his wife, who is trying to get tiny shoes buckled onto kicking, dancing feet. _M is so good with the girls – a real find – but…am I wrong, or does she seem to be spinning out her goodbyes today? Wonder if there’s anything wrong?_

J kindly but pointedly wishes M a good afternoon. The girl calms down and, waving a firm cheerio to the children, tactfully backs out of the front door and is gone around the corner until tomorrow. She will be heading into town to meet her boyfriend. J carefully straps the little one into the pushchair. M should be out of sight if she waits a minute or so.

J:         Right, all set. Goodbye, Darling!

He inveigles an insistent kiss onto his missus before she abandons him.

B         [Quietly:] That’s just a sample of what madam has in her savings account.

J          [Wriggling free, giving a guilty glance at the children:] Yes, yes, that’s quite enough of that now…and please don’t waste your whole afternoon daydreaming, will you? I’m doing this so’s you can work, don’t forget!

She wags her finger – a gesture he likes to make but hates to receive. Then J takes something small and pink out of her bag and clicks it open and glances inside. Probably a makeup compact. The children are impatient to go but they haven’t forgotten Dad. The bigger one, free to move, hugs his legs.

Kids:   Bye, bye Dadda!             
           Write us a nice long story!

B guffaws to himself. They’d better not read some of the ‘stories’ that he churns out until they are a bit older.

B:        Only if you bring me back a sherbet fountain [gesturing high up with one hand and getting a big laugh] as tall as me!

J snaps the thing shut and puts it hastily away.

J:         (Shouldn’t be much of a problem.) Lemon Sherbet Dips, indeed! When’s that diet starting again, eh? I lost my baby weight but seem to have given it to you!

She pinches her chubby hubby’s side, rather sharply.

B:        Ow! _That’s better than ‘all pat the dog’, I suppose, although it was a bit painful._ Yes, Miss, I promise I’ll work!

_Help, even that pinch is turning me on! Hmm, wonder if we could resurrect the old ‘teacher and pupil’ game tonight? She wasn’t interested last time, but perhaps if I open some of that wine she likes, later…_

            [To the giggling children as he helps J to get the pushchair out of the door and traverse the steps:] Bye, bye! Yes, I’ll miss you all! Be good!

He blows them kisses at the door and waves until they are out of sight down the road. J hurries along, holding their elder girl’s hand, and doesn’t look back.

Then B lets the front door and his duty seal him into the guilty silence. Yes, all right, he knows he eats too many sweets. They bring him pleasure; fleeting oral satisfaction. Not the kind he really wants or needs, but it’s an easy habit to slip into if you aren’t getting enough kisses, and not as bad as some he could have taken up, for example those of one or two of his more adventurous musical acquaintances. He can easily lose the weight if he just takes a bit more exercise. Mmm… I wonder if G would write me a prescription for daily horizontal athletics? And I bet he knows the Latin for that, without having to look in his dictionary.

Stirring himself, he bounds energetically up to his attic study.

 _OK…writing, writing; come on, brain!_ Scanning G’s pages of neat typescript one last time, B opens his notepad, picks up a biro, absently sucks the tip then rubs his thumb ruminatively up and down its stiff, loaded shaft... _Oh, Christ, even the bloody pen! Everything makes me think of other, more tempting ways to spend my private time. No! I’m saving myself for J tonight. Distraction, quick! I know, I’ll have…_

He opens a small drawer in the desk. _Oh, for fuck’s sake. Nothing but a box of bloody raisins and a note:_

Darling, you are sweet enough. Apples are sweet, too.  
Why not try some fruit? J xx

_Shit, that’s low. Not my Mintola stash? I was really looking forward to them! I was just going to have one for every page I finished!_

_Right, I’ve had it with waiting. It’s best to get it over with. Just another little one off the wrist; surely that would be okay, because then I can last longer with the wife… Yes, I’d be doing her a favour actually! I’m so sex-starved, I’m likely to be too quick tonight, and I want her to enjoy our lovemaking. She always turns me on. _His hand creeps towards his fly and automatically sneaks the buttons open.

 _You know…purely in the interests of saving time…I could just get those Playboys out of their hiding place. Assuming Mrs Strict hasn’t found them, too! Oh, God; I hope not!_ He hurries downstairs to the bedroom and has his hand on the wardrobe knob – and, with the predictability of a Whitehall farce, that’s exactly when the doorbell rings. _Ignore it? Ooh, but there is that continental item I’m waiting for – it might be the parcel post; can’t see from here. Sod it! I’d better go down. In fact, it would be much better if I took delivery of those magazines when J’s not here, heh-heh._ B hastily adjusts his dress, running down to the front door…

…where he finds himself in receipt of a different kind of stimulating package.

B:        Oh, it’s you! I mean, hello again, M; forgotten something?

M:       Yes; I got as far as the bus stop, then realised I didn’t have my _handbag!_ Sorry, aren’t I daft? I’m sure I’d forget my own head these days if it weren’t screwed on – I can’t always have been this scatter-brained or you would never have…

She trails off, as he is unresponsive. Try again.

           Gosh, Mr O, I’m so glad you didn’t decide to go out as well or I’d have been locked out. The King’s Road isn’t much fun without spending money!

Scratching the back of his neck, B seems a bit distracted and, as he doesn’t move to let her enter, M isn’t sure he was really listening. She probably wittered on too long and bored the man. His mind’s evidently on his work. 

M:       I say; good job **I caught you** at home?

B twitches at this remark, then pulls himself together. (He was wondering, yet again, why she insists on calling him ‘Mr O’, like some old wireless comic charlady? She calls his wife by her first name.)

B:        How did– Um…oh, I see! Yes, of course. Well, I’d have been in all day, you know: I need to write.

_(And I honestly would have started writing very soon – right after that other ‘matter arising’ – which I need to get out of the way even more urgently now. Best get rid of the girl quickly)._

           Come on in then, come and get it.

_Come and get it? Freudian slip? Watch it; you’re alone with this young, attractive girl whilst in a state of semi-arousal._

M enters and sidles past him to look around the narrow hallway. There is a brief scare where they almost touch; each carefully recoils a fraction.

M:       Ohh... Is it not in the hall? I’m certain I brought it downstairs – maybe the lounge…

B puts his hands in his pockets, hunches his shoulders and follows, absently.

B:        May I help you look? Don’t want to keep that poor boyfriend waiting any longer than we have to, do we! _If I were your bloke, though, you wouldn’t need money; I’d_ _treat you to whatever you desired…and I’d buy you stuff, too, bu-boom!_

At this, M’s shell finally cracks and she abruptly starts to hiccup and keen alarmingly.

_B         [Thinks, panicking:] I didn’t say that last bit aloud, did I? No, no; I’m sure I didn’t._

M        [Frankly blubbing:] Oh, Mr O! Oh, dear!

B:        What is it, honeybun? _Now I know I’m right: a split with the boyfriend. Oh, lord. Time’s ticking away and this could take a while._

M only sobs more wretchedly at his kind words. _Gawd!_ _Can’t have this racket._ B, holding back his eye-rolling irritation, puts one hand lightly on M’s shoulder and ushers her to the settee, where first she then he sits down; the gentleman trying to leave a slight gap – but this is quickly bridged when, covering her face with her hands, M topples against B’s chest in a daughterly sort of way. But, even with her heartfelt sobbing, this close position they seem to have got into – he’s conscious of her lissom thigh, naked in the summer heat below her short skirt, which she’s just carelessly pressed up against his own leg, for example – is only making certain things harder! Taking evasive action, B reaches away for the tissue box and, as he leans over, solves the simpler half of the riddle.

B:        [Relieved.] Oh, look! There’s the naughty handbag, hiding under the coffee table! Maybe one of my girls had something to do with that – I’ll have to have another little talk with them about hiding things! _Honestly, it wasn’t me; I wouldn’t dare._

[Hands her the Kleenex.] There, there. That’s it, have a good blow! _Bugger, why did I have to use that word, ‘blow’? GET DOWN, SPOT!_

Whilst B patiently battles his baser feelings, M despondently finishes cleaning up her face and lets the used tissues roll from her hands and plop into the wastepaper basket. She can’t bring herself to summon up any more tears for that ruddy heel; rather, she feels empty and blue.

B:        Better?

M:       Not really.

Awkward silence. Her brooding gloom feels like a personal challenge to B. The lass can’t just head out alone into London in this state; but he has no clue what he’s supposed to do about it. His wife would know what to say, but he’s on his own. What can he do to put the spring back in her step, pronto?

B:        Come on! Chin up, Chinchilla!

Not even a twitch. Impatiently, the demonstrative B does the only thing he really has in his repertoire – a gesture that usually helps when his daughters have nightmares – a quick squeeze of the hands and a smacking kiss. He was only aiming for her cheek, in his defence. Miss M is the guilty party who plainly turned her mouth to meet his and completely changed things.

He pulls his hands away abruptly.

B:        Er, look…sorry, I didn’t mean…

M:       [Inscrutably:] Don’t apologise, Mr O, it was a kind thing to do.

She makes no move; either to leave or…well, do anything else. They continue sitting silently side by side. B’s brain whirls.

B:        Wow, did you… _The way she acted just now seemed to convey that she’s – erm… already holding auditions for the boyfriend’s successor.  Very LOCAL auditions!? Crikey!_

_Surely not. You flatter yourself, B. A lovely young thing like her wouldn’t be interested in a short, plump old dad; the wrong side of thirty. Nah. You’re living in fantasyland, Bunter! Been reading too many of those dirty books. Don’t embarrass yourself any further, just see her out. Yep. Go back to your non-musical jazz mags before you make a complete fool of yourself._

Well. His mind says, 'stand up’, but his body is overruling it.

_Oh, but I must find out, or I’ll for ever be wondering how the land lay! That would be worse torture than momentary embarrassment because it would have no end while she works for us. And we can’t take her job off her for something I might be wrong about; wouldn’t be fair!_

_Right, mate, here goes nothing:_

B         [Looking straight ahead:] M? Do you… [He shuts his eyes and grimaces.] Do you like me?

M        [Primly looking at her hands:] Yes, Mr O, you’re a good employer and a wonderful father.

B:        _Damn, I wasn’t clear enough. Or is she merely hedging her bets?_

[If there were a camera, he’d be frowning at it.]

           [Softly:] Oh, well, thanks, but…  
           [persistently:] No; I mean, do you ‘LIKE’ me? Eh?

Peeping sideways, he catches the young woman blushing.

_M:       What’s he accusing me of? Am I in trouble? Okay; in the heat of the moment, I stole a kiss from those sexy, clueless lips. I’ll just say it was an accident – and hope J will believe that if she hears about it. Otherwise, I’ll be out on my ear; I bet she won’t tolerate a rival._

_Ever since she started working here, M has had to limit her natural curiosity about the noted man of the house; about what goes on in his mind, under the banter; in his quiet times. Some of her friends were quite interested at first, but it’s not like he’s a pop star, or something. If any of them recognise his name, all they ever want to know is if she can get them a meeting with one of ‘the other two’._

_But lately, and more worryingly, M’s curiosity has run more along the lines of what goes on [whisper it]_ _under   B’s   clothes.   Why on earth? It’s not like he’s tall, fit and handsome, is it? Well, all her friends can’t be wrong, can they…and he’s not a patch on her ex, although such model looks often come with inordinate vanity. But he has something – a kind of energy – that simply makes him the centre of attention, even off-stage. More and more often, driving away intrusive daydreams, she’s had to remind herself that he is very much ‘taken’ – and so had she been…until last week! Definitely, she’d scrupulously avoided giving B any cause to come on to her. Not even a lingering look. And now she’s ruined it._

_She ought to rebuild those defences, and fast, because it would be a shame to lose this job: – a sweet pair of little girls, quite easy work (J’s a dear, once you really get to know her), a lovely area, well away from her dreary parents, and those cool musicians and theatricals who drop in – although she is usually asked to go out with the kids just as things get interesting – and there’s the added benefit (or is it torture?) of Mr O’s occasional presence._

_Yes, she should pretend it was all a mistake, and leave. But now, unfairly, he is calling her bluff. The armour of a boyfriend’s claim on her is no longer there to strengthen her morality – in fact, the young man’s abrupt and unexplained desertion of her has revealed how much she was using him as a prop to her own weakness. M is overwhelmed by the extreme emotions which shock has released in her over the past week. Anger, despair, shame… Lust… erm…more Lust, Lust again, will it never go away… How much of that was in there all along? Maybe she should have left this job weeks ago; it isn’t right to feel this way about someone else’s husband. Especially since she started sensing early signs of a chill developing in the marriage._

The silence from her stammering mouth, unable to voice a convincing denial, is all the reply the watchful B needs. Plainly he wasn’t wrong, then: this elusive thing might actually be freely offered if he simply reaches out for it; the alternative he’s had animal thoughts about on several occasions since M arrived in their house – thoughts which he had firmly pushed away.

He can’t believe he came right out and asked her, and is taken aback by her lack of rebuff. Is it just her, or are all girls are so forward these days? If only they’d all been like this one when he was her age! He can’t believe his luck – nor the serious transgression he is contemplating. Temptingly, Fate seems on their side: means and opportunity are in rare alignment today, possibly never to be repeated. But he has to be certain of the mutuality of their motives if he isn’t to get into even hotter water.

B gets his pen out of his shirt pocket and fiddles about with it. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong. But; if it makes _two_ people feel good, good, good? Just for a little time…?

B:        Okay, listen, M. Just take your bag and go, if you want – I won’t bother you any more and we’ll never mention today again. But – if you’re not quite ready to leave – Well…um… _(How to put it?)_ Ah… You see, M; I’ve got something I’m struggling with upstairs, and I could do with some help. I’ve just got this feeling…you could be my muse.

Piece said, he spins his biro one last time, refits it into his pocket, and only then has the courage to look the girl full in the eye. She certainly isn’t crying now: it’s hard to read her expression.

           You understand what a ‘muse’ is?

Is he being too literary? Will she understand that her help won’t involve writing? Thinking of the other possibilities, he smirks and lets his tongue show just a little. Yes. She’s caught his drift, judging by her pink face and sharp intake of breath.

M:       Mr O! My job’s supposed to be Mother’s Help!

Her arms are crossed in pantomimed anger – making B’s face fall for a second. But she is only toying with him. Her real ire is directed at someone he’s never met, and wouldn’t wish to. A gleam comes to her eye and a twitch to her mouth, softening her whole expression.

As excitement rushes back in, B decides that his resentment at being ignored too many times makes a fair match for M’s justified anger at her ex. Or, at least, he could temporarily consider it to be so...couldn’t he? And then the girl, in a soft and devious voice, seals his doom absolutely.

M:       Although… No‑one actually said anything about NOT helping Father, TOO…did they?

Seized by a sudden impulse to take the lead, M gets to her feet. Swinging her handbag coquettishly on two fingers, she at last allows herself a lascivious look down at her employer, who’s now leaning back on the sofa in astonishment. Brazenly, she makes eyes at his gasping, upturned face, then lets her gaze slide slowly down his patently horny, guilty body, to linger pointedly at crotch level. The young woman hopes it shows in her face how much she is turned on by all she sees. For once, she’s going to grab an opportunity and be utterly badly-behaved!

This is too much for B to resist. After all, he’s just a man! He is one big grin as he stands up and takes her hand, moving them both slowly towards the stairs. Wordlessly he sneaks upstairs with her, faster now, unwilling to break the lucky spell by questioning any further; laughing softly as though the neighbours might hear; glancing back at his illegal prize.

He’s already writing his defences in his head. ‘ _Rebound? Sounded like something you do on a mattress, so we went upstairs for a jump, wa-hey! She was so down, you know, she was a danger to herself; it just got to me so strongly… She wanted it, plainly, as revenge; I was going frantic for it physically and, sorry, we just clicked – something snapped – it was a magic moment…no…those two things’ll never happen at the same time again…  I didn’t hide her ruddy handbag, ask the kids!... Yes, it was just physical…EXTREMELY PHYSICAL I hope, COR!…no, that sounds bad. You remember, though? I kept trying to tell you, er, to ask you to…I did explain how urgent: it was like a medical emergency, you see? _

Finally, the rather limp trump card: _Oh come on, I’d resisted her dozens of times; don’t I get any credit?’_ Not that any of this crap had a hope in hell of getting past J. 

_Anyway, by the weight of my poor old goolies, I reckon there’s plenty of me to go around. And neither of us is going to tell, obviously. So, nobody loses! Yes! Yes! Why not? Others do it, look at the French; you always say they’re so bloody sophisticated…_

They are already in the bedroom. Before either of them can get cold feet, B steers M blindly to the double bed – the one whose linen she has changed many a time, always having a sneaky sniff of the sheets on Mr O’s side and fantasising about what goes on in it (every night, so she fondly imagines). Tipping off her sandals, M lies down awkwardly on top of the covers, unable to believe her luck; sick with top-of-the-rollercoaster excitement and impatient for the distance between their bodies to snap to zero. Looking at him: savouring his appearance, which is just as lovely as it always is: except now improved no end by his frank, flattered hunger for her.

B         [glancing at his watch:] How long will they be out, d’you think?

M        [breathless:] Oh, till five, at least! The park, shopping; probably a café.

He rubs his hands together. Any nerves on his part were dispelled as soon as they breached the marital sanctum; the Rubicon has been crossed. But it’s plain that M feels the weight of what they are doing just as much as he. B resolves that M will never regret entering this room with him. Because, actually, he isn’t a total bastard.

B:        Oh goody! Right, let’s get to work.

She shifts over uncertainly to make space for him, as he lies carefully down beside her and holds her hand.

            [Seductively:] Hello! Let me introduce myself. I am the Genie of the Lovelight, sent on a secret mission to cheer you up, O Fair Princess!

The line works – she laughs quietly. B takes his time kissing her slowly, on, off – very, very softly – and checking her face. Despite her bravado, he senses she is still a bit pent-up. Exactly how inexperienced is she?

Why the nerves? Well, M has been rewarded for her honesty with his intoxicating physical closeness, but she’s trying not to grab the magnetic B too passionately. Mustn’t be embarrassingly frenzied. Not yet… don’t want to shock him with the scale of her need. Oh, but it’s difficult to remain calm when every kiss is like the first lick of a Mars bar!

B         [murmuring:] Oh, my Honey, I’m going to be very gentle with you, don’t worry. Just stop me any time you don’t like anything. And, listen: I promise I’m going to make you come before I ask anything in return! Relax and enjoy yourself. My first wish is to put a smile back on your face.

_M’s heart jumps. Even the way he pronounces ‘come’ is sexy, especially in his musical tones. She never did get round to asking where that accent is from, exactly. The sound hangs warmly in her mind; the thoughts it brings, and his sureness, make her tingle._

Back to kissing – and some keener necking. No, she amends; the term ‘kissing’ is inadequate to describe the tenderness of the process. It’s more as though he were slowly painting joy all over her face – from the heart, as a pet dog would, but thankfully less messy! What a great kisser he is; she was right in her fantasies. Generous lips, naturally, kiss generously. How sensational are these full-on sensations, which he’s evidently enjoying as well? And then…his tongue is somehow in her mouth – no assault, it just kind of melted its way in and now they are grasping at each other’s heads. At last, she is unchained; her hands can burrow into his thick, toffee-brown hair. M has also discovered B’s whiskers are gorgeously tickly, not scratchy, to her head and neck – and wonders, with a lewd shiver, if she might ever be lucky enough to feel them anywhere else on her skin.

B has edged his hot body gently over on top of hers like a sweet claim and his determined weight is making her tremble with excitement. She almost forgets to start stroking and hugging his solid self – at long last, she can! Eagerly she feels the shape of his bullish neck and, through his clothes, his wide, rounded shoulders, then down his spine, daringly, to that still-sporty behind. Oh, yes, it’s not all fat – those muscles are clenching instinctively and raring to get going.

For his part, B enjoys her graceful tracing of his spine, especially when she reaches the bottom! His man’s instinct is to do something of the same to M – indeed; he gets as far as squeezing her body excitedly close with a firm hand on the small of her back – but then he remembers to be careful not to run away with himself along lustfully abandoned lines. He had rapidly drawn up a particular running order to cheer up this wronged girl, hadn’t he? Still a little unsure of the finale but ever hopeful.

As soon as he dares, B allows his fingers slip gently between her young thighs to find the source of the siren call nagging at his groin. The knuckles slowly approach her underwear and nuzzle pussy through the gusset – careful to tantalise rather than roughly invade. His soft sexual salute is causing her an instant shock, fast increasing to a minor orgasm after he smoothly slips inside the fabric for a tentative but franker grope.

The delicious slow kissing continues as though nothing in particular were happening at her crotch when in fact his wicked hand is visiting disturbingly sweet joy upon her down there. M’s heart pounds and she can’t help losing her cool. At this rate she’ll be a quivering wreck; she hopes he can cope! As though reading her mind, B lifts his kiss to a nose-to-nose grin, belatedly acknowledging her enjoyment and chuckling in that filthy, throaty tone he just can’t suppress – and M, for one, would hate him to – wordlessly rejoicing that he finds the girl so mouth-wateringly responsive to him and giving her silent assurance that she will find him able to handle her.

Now for a key change.

B:        Nice, eh? Now, shall we take our tops off for Wish Number Two?

M        [Laughing:] D’you know, I could simply kiss you for hours and never get enough. But yes, that sounds intriguing; do let’s!

B:        Everything off on top, mind! Look, I’ll go first.

Watching her with a wink and a smile, B deftly unbuttons and removes his shirt, nervously smoothing his forelock immediately afterwards. M, having feigned shyness simply so that she could savour his shirt coming off, takes off her dress and bra, distracted from any awkwardness by having been just as knocked out on seeing B’s bare chest revealed as vice versa. It’s not the first time she’s glimpsed it but having it so warmly close makes it twice as thrilling.  _I wonder if those rather prominent nipples are anything like as sensitive as mine?_ The always-appealing man-hair, on him, starts to thicken noticeably low, before disappearing down the front to You Know Where (still strictly under wraps). She glimpses his arms with their similar demi-fur; strong and reassuring as they slide back around her pliant body _. I don’t care if he’s a bit plump, he’s my live teddy bear; a sweet dream to cuddle and kiss, but with a wicked surprise hidden away!_

B, in adult command of the impatient cock crowing away inside his trousers, can now have full access to M’s done-to-a-turn young breasts, which he urgently worships with both mouth and fingers _. The magic man seems to be dancing slowly to some private groovy music in his head, and if she’s quiet, M is sure she can hear it, too; or – wait, is he humming?_

 _It’s true; and,_ dolcissimo _, she is welcomed into his symphony. B’s laid-back sucking, nipping, handling and tickling of her twin raspberry delights raises M again to lofty heights. She couldn’t have devised anything more delicious for herself if she’d ordered the deluxe Tiffin hamper from Fortnum’s and then had an attack of amnesia! All she has to do is lie back and let the rushes come until she’s feverish._

_Whatever next? Surely the poor guy can’t hold out much longer? But she has an inkling she’s going to get a lot more happy, very shortly. Please let this afternoon last for ever!_

Sensing his partner floating high enough, B prepares to grant what must surely be the princess’s third and most secret wish. He retreats from her happy, tingling breasts and dots his vibrant kisses teasingly slowly down her stomach, around her tummy button, moving down the bed, unhurriedly peeling her knickers out of the way as he traverses their top edge – off he rolls them, paying scant attention as yet to that which he has revealed; over her toes they go and lightly drop to the floor.

There are no objections from M as B softly, artistically parts her legs by what he adjudges the correct distance, settles himself in a kneeling posture on the floor between them and glances slyly up to her rejoicing face. _Is he actually going to…? Oh my god! Yes, I think he is! She is suddenly aware of the extent of the enchanted theatre he has uncovered, the very wideness of her position exposing so much of her inner self to him. Wait! Maybe she isn’t quite as cool and prepared as she’d imagined herself –_

B:        Now, then, hold very tight to the flying carpet, please, Princess! I warn you; this is now an Express Service: we’re not going to stop until we reach the palace!

With the sweeping touch of his shaggy hair enlivening her lower body, his face reverently approaches and HALLELUJAH makes outrageous contact with her most sensitive parts. By the way she reaches back for the headboard in a panic at the intensity, it dawns on B that it might be the girl’s first time. In fact, her body has been subtly slipped down the bed so that all M can grab is the bedspread, which she tugs around herself for comfort. _Wow, a tongue virgin? What a responsibility – and won’t she love me for it!_ Imprisoning the girl’s overexcited buttocks in a reassuring grip therefore, B takes a deep nasal breath and concentrates on delivering a skilful, firm and persistent drilling of her tingling little pleasure centre and a sucking of the surrounding womanly flesh.

The girl rides, suddenly helpless in incredulous ecstasy, against his experienced mouth. She wants to get away – she never wants him to stop – it’s utter torment – it’s better than anything in the history of the world, ever! It is ouch and yum, sour and sweet, and what the hell is she supposed to do with her legs?

For a little while, M is inhibited by worries about what might happen if she gets wet – the embarrassment, and the dangerous evidence. Then it’s too late: she gives forth, but B never takes his hirsute mouth off her. Yes, he even hums his pleasure and seems to be drinking the flood, lapping like a tickly dog! So…it’s okay? It turns him on even more? Upon this welcome, M relaxes, really opens out and gives in to the overwhelming sensations and contortions that come naturally to most women when they are lucky enough to be in this position, her increasingly abandoned moans really firing B’s enthusiasm.

After several minutes (who’s counting?!) of incessant, sweet torture – the learner constantly giving voice to her feeling that she’s reached the acme; the teacher firmly and persistently proving her wrong – it seems the end’s in sight. M’s flying carpet is finally snagged on the rocks of the sharpest, most definite pleasure she’s ever felt, including when she’s chased the same kind of high with her own lonely fingers. Someone else pleasuring her there is a million times more intense – she has no control whatsoever, and ADORES it! Her thighs try vainly to twitch away from her tormentor as her body writhes, something inside her seems to squeeze itself nearly upside down and M starts to sob with the spinning of her universe.

But His mouth is still working her, as tight as a vacuum cleaner and keenly searching for any last scraps of juice. M screams a final time, although it comes out very high and thin, throws her toes down, gasps; thumps the mattress; throws the sweaty candlewick aside and weaves her pleading fingers into B’s thick hair! The saturate, pulsing heat of her entire skin took her breath away, stealing the cry of joy that he was listening for from her lungs and spreading out the waves of thudding pleasure he’d given her, wide across her thirsty shore. B has obviously achieved what he’d been aiming for, and enormously proud he is of it, although he’s never over-keen on having his hair pulled!

Job done, B sits up, looking sweaty, exhausted but rather pleased with himself – as well he might, excellent man. He grins as he watches the last, abandoned, tearful throes of his hot pink prey and winks as she opens her eyes at last and dazedly locates the culprit.

B:        See? As good as my word, eh, your Highness?  
           Worth holding on tightly for, wasn’t it?

M, feeling her quivering, bludgeoned feminine nerve endings slowly and painfully begin to reawaken, still can’t reply because, although her lungs have finally regained their normal function, her mouth is now too busy silently groaning prayers of relief at his enforced satiation; she has had total pleasure whilst avoiding the whole thorny topic of penetration (she knew she wasn’t correctly prepared for THAT when she first laid herself down on his bed, although now she is busy savouring an ambition that the delectable B will have the honour of being the first man ever to shoot his load whilst burrowed deep inside her). This wasn’t really ‘doing it’, was it? She can kind of pretend all this never happened. Well; in theory. She knows she’ll never get the memory of his active tongue out of her mind until the day she dies!

Oh, yes – he asked her a question. Was it good? WAS IT GOOD? Surely he is teasing her! She wipes the crocodile tears away and spread-eagles backwards to refill her chest with air, laughing and shouting at last in celebration:

M:       YES, MR O!!!

Her old boyfriend was never so gallant, although perhaps he should have been: now that she’s had such a wonderful treat she would have done anything for B in return. Only then does the talented but modest B reappear at her side, coughing theatrically. Most politely, rather plaintively, the guy indicates his own not-so-little problem, which M is intrigued to diagnose has been growing by the minute inside his trousers to what must surely be painful proportions. It’s a wonder it hasn’t burst those tiny fly buttons off!

B:        Oh, good, good. So, erm, perhaps you wouldn’t mind returning the favour, darling? It’s quite urgent, as I think you’ve spotted.

Reclining on the pillows, B unshackles and, with a sigh, lowers his trousers. M keenly draws near to the rampant monster his frustrated hound has become. It’s not that it attracts by its appearance; it’s just that she has been so well-served, and he’s been so patient, that she’s not only glad to help; she desperately wants him to feel just as wiped out by joy as he made her feel, if that’s possible. Suddenly she comprehends that what she thinks of as ‘a whore’s trick’ is not an imposition or act of violence on her but, for the right man, a loving gift which only she has in her power to grant. Gleefully embracing her lover’s loins in order to greet at last his fascinating doggie, the lovestruck girl happily clasps the proffered paw and bestows the deepest kiss and the hottest lick man can hope for. Yes, it’s exactly what boys like best: B is aboard the Pullman to Heaven.

B hadn’t dared ask to fully fuck her, thinking she’s quite possibly a virgin and not taking the Pill. But when she unhesitatingly gives him head, he wonders. Because, although he gently aids and guides her to get precisely what he likes, she’s obviously no beginner at this and even, for some reason, seems to be enjoying it.

B:        You are a godsend, darling, thank you, thank you… that’s lovely licking, just lovely! Oh Christ… yes, oh YES, tickle’m like THAT! So nice… MORE, please! Oh, God, how did you _know?_ [He caresses her hair – _I’m not shoving you, just loving you._ ] And, if you don’t mind now, the old up and down…could you; you know – Thanks, ooh, yes, fantastic, yeah… Please, suck me really hard now…don’t be scared; I like it – I know, weird…HARDER! OH, WOW!  
  
Now, if you wouldn’t mind, darling, could you _please_ try and do _all_ that, but a bit FASTER? [He spreads his legs enthusiastically as she works endearingly hard to please him.] Oh, CHRIST that’s great! _[Who’d have thought you were so dirty? I’m halfway already.]_ OH!! Good GIRL!! Ooh, Cor blimey, that’s SO GOOD [ _tingles all down my back_ ]. Sweet Jesus I think I’m dying… [ _watch out, I swear my huge balls might burst in your face_ ], haahh, yeah!!!… Etc, in similar vein [geddit?].

[Hands over his face, juddering and almost in tears, happy little B’s trying to hold back in any small way possible, the longer to savour this delicious treat – he tries Latin but to no avail: _hic, haec, hoc? …chick’s so HOT!_ Inevitably, after such a long wait, his rockbag soon clenches with uncontrollable, overfilled readiness.] Oh, no! **No, love; keep going!** I’m just afraid I’m – [yes, he’s irreversibly groaning, squirming and gasping his way into an enormous, blessed release] Hrrnggghh-Aaahh!!!

_FADE TO WHITE NOISE_

[There it is again, that legendarily addictive silent rush as he stares a massive orgasm in the face then lets it rip like holy lightning up through his hunched and stiffened body – and out into the girl’s sweetly willing mouth!] _She’s even swallowing!!! I can visualise her now. Such soft, luscious lips around…_ B whispers soundlessly: Christ! You absolute bloody ANGEL! _Only the greatest head he can remember! Every ounce of the long-irritant old Oddie Essence so warmly, lovingly extracted and he’s floating somewhere above the bed, temporarily blind and deaf. He feels like a million dollars all over. If there is a drug better than this, he’d still prefer sex. It’s natural, friendly and tactile. And you can share it; god, how he **needs** to share it!_

 **M**         [In due course, gasping with flattered success, his new saviour speaks, as B hugs her as enthusiastically as he can manage after such a draining:]  
It was a real pleasure, Mr O!!! _(And I’m not lying – I honestly enjoyed experiencing your ecstasy so closely with you – I felt you coming and made sure I finished you off entirely, just as you did for me.)_ You completely deserved every second of that. I only wish it had gone on longer for you. I had a lovely time from you, first, don’t forget! I wasn’t expecting such a huge bonus as your three wishes!

M beams, and strokes B’s shining face admiringly as he leans back for a very loud breather. _This gorgeous, clever, big-hearted, sensual, rhythmic little sweetheart…how dare anyone neglect him? If he were mine, I’d tie him to the bed and kiss him all over, every single bloody day!_

{Hmm, it’s just possible B might like that!}

B:        Aw, thanks. [Grin; gasp.] It’s only polite to [pant] give as well as take, I always say. [Yawns, closes eyes _just for a moment_.]  
  
_B’s prayer. The way to keep them keen is NOT to treat them mean, I find. Quite the opposite. And making women come off, frankly, makes me feel like a fucking god. Certainly used to keep them coming back for more, once I discovered the secrets from that older woman when I was just starting out. What luck! And I reckon each girl kept telling her friends – I had to send quite a few away in fact, once J & I became an item, heh-hey! So…I’ve still got it, and the minute my old Dutch deigns to decide she wants it again, I’ll give it to her with great pleasure. Woof!_

Hooh! _Wow, still reverberations… sweeter than Mussel Shoals…_

 _Mmm. Far out._  
  
           You know, M, don’t take this the wrong way, but…you ‘helped’ me very well: I’m starting to think you might perhaps have done that before…? Am I right?

M:       Yes, well, I did do that for _him_ sometimes. [Tosses her hair as if to throw her ex’s memory off, then snuggles up to the shining B, enjoying their skins’ naked contact much more than raking up the past.]

We never did quite go all the way – you see, I wasn’t sure how to get hold of the Pill – I was scared our doctor would tell my parents, and just a bit too proud, I’m afraid, to go to a clinic – what if someone I knew saw me go in? Silly, I know. And my ex just wouldn’t wear a thingy so we always had to, you know...stop far too soon, _just_ when…! Huh. So that’s when he asked me to help him finish. Well, the whole process wasn’t at all satisfactory for me, I can tell you. [Sigh.] Made me long to get married, though I’m not sure I really want to just yet.

B:        Mmm, frustrating. _My whole skin is buzzing. Thank you, thank you, thank you, you cutie._

M:       D’you know, I was convinced Justin was going to pop the question last week, when he took me to that fancy restaurant.

B:        What happened? Tell me all about it. [Flopping his heavy hand encouragingly onto her lovely leg and blinking to stay politely awake.]

M:       Ha! There’s not much to tell! He came right out and told me he was seeing someone else and that we were finished. No explanation! We didn’t even get to the main course.

B         [Sitting up a little:] What?! The utter twat! Pardon my language.

M        [Giggling whilst artfully twisting her legs around his warm, reassuringly thick thigh to comfort her aching parts:] It’s quite alright. That’s exactly what he is – a Twat! _Whatever that exactly means; never could find the word in the dictionary..._ I’m well rid of him, aren’t I?

She laughs freely, a delightfully musical sound. Giving the supine B one last, thankful kiss on the glowing cheek, M gets up reluctantly but still grinning – and wobbling slightly, her legs satisfyingly weary, stretches attractively and starts to dress. The power she feels as she senses that B is losing a part of his heart to her is something M can’t bear to confront at the moment. She guesses she doesn’t need to do or say anything more to ensure that he will contrive to lie with her again, somehow. She suspects she isn’t the only one already feeling the itch to deepen their acquaintance.

B rests a bit longer, arms folded behind his head, watching. He is dopey with agreeable exhaustion but can feel his body regrouping already. This is definitely all good. The young woman is restored, empowered. In fact, so is he! He can handle whatever is the problem on his side, so long as M stays this happy and strong. _I did that! I gave her a big boost! Maybe I’m not useless at my age, after all. [Eh? Big boobs?] …mutters the dormant hound, starting to open a sleepy eye again on his hearthrug. That’s ‘boost’, doggie. [Woof!  I’ll give her a rocket of a boost next time…] Shut up, you mutt! I’m thinking what to say to make this girl feel extra fab._

B:        Oh, yes, you could do much better! You’ll soon have them queuing up, with your looks, don’t you fret. _And the aforementioned ripe tits, long, shapely legs and, ooh, especially that pert bum… [sadly watching it all disappear under clothes again.] Ah, what a woman. How can I have thought her a girl? It’s really quite simple. We just all need to be loved… Loving and free… I’d like to teach the world to suck…_

M:       Heavens, is that the time? I’d better make myself scarce. And you’d better get on with your writing! Sorry, didn’t mean to sound _bossy_ , Mr O.

B:        Ha, hah, you can say whatever the hell you like after what you just did for me, me darling. _Phew-wee!_ [His drainlike chuckle rings through the room, tugging at her heart.] Yeah, you’re right, though.

B sadly gets up and dresses, remembering to smooth and check the bed for incriminating evidence, too. M helps in this task then does her makeup again, nervously stooping to J’s dressing table mirror rather than sit on the mistress of the house’s personal dressing stool.

           And I keep telling you, it’s ‘Bill’! C’mon, please!

M:       Mmm…I think it’s safer if I stick to ‘Mr O’. _Nothing can possibly change; nothing must show!_

[Talks to his reflection in the mirror:] Listen, this didn’t happen, obviously? I went out with Justin. We hit the boutiques, ended up at a Wimpy and went to see a film. Just like always.

B:        Ah…yes. Yes, of course! Right. I know nothing of any split; you and Justin are as thick as thieves.

M:       That’s the ticket.

           In fact… ‘We’ might consider getting engaged this evening.

She turns and looks properly at the beaming B, the other side of the bed – the bed he had vowed to share only with J.

           Especially if you think this kind of thing might possibly…happen again…at some point.

She bites her newly-coloured lip and redirects her attention to her reflection.

_Do I sound too desperate? Obviously nothing can come of this in the long run, but I am only human and I’m afraid I crave more of your gorgeous body whenever I might get the chance._

B         [Sheepishly:] Ooh, I don’t know. We probably shouldn’t… But then… You know; me and J? It’s getting more and more…well, less and less! I never meant it to... [Sigh.]

           Alright, M, you go ahead and ‘get engaged’.

           That’ll allay any suspicions about today.

M’s comb slowly stops its passage through her hair. He spots her frowning at him in the mirror, as though waiting to see whether he will add something.

B clicks his fingers, points at her and she turns to him.

B:        Aha! You’re thinking you’ll tell the _Doc_ the same story? Any chance that might be for my future benefit?

Sucking his thumb anxiously, he looks bashfully hopeful, making M’s pulse race again. _What? Does he still not know how much I need him?_

The old hound, for his part, has certainly read both their thoughts. He’s not stupid.

 _I’m getting right up there, eh? Ooh, very nice; can’t wait!_  
I love being slobbered over and tickled but sometimes what an energetic dog like me needs  
is to be let off the lead for a good long gambol in Bushy Park!  
Master, I’m your faithful friend; have I ever steered you wrong?  
You know it! This way, you can really Have her and it will be even sweeter than today.

 _I mean; imagine watching her face as I do my tricks!_  
Breasts in motion….  
Woof-WOOF!

M:       Well, you know, just in case… It’s a good idea, I thought… [Blankly:] Oh, I don’t know; maybe not.

B:        Oh, no, I would! I mean – then you can be your own woman, can’t you? _Le mot juste! Women’s Lib, and all that!_ _Good way to save her blushes._ Ah, you’ll be needing a ring. Can I help with extra cash?

M        [A little coldly:] No, I’ll pick up a cheap one at the market; it’s OK.

There is a pause while they both worry whether this is going too fast, and about the fact that he just nearly ruined everything by making her seem nothing more than a tart. He moves round the bed and addresses her earnestly, hands on her shoulders, looking her straight in the eye (well, all right: at a slight angle up to her eye!).

B:        M, this was fantastic, today; thank you ever so much. But you mustn’t think I’ve stopped loving J. It’s just; well, she hardly ever wants sex these days. I honestly can’t work out why. Think it’s something to do with the children. She seems anxious about them all the time: constantly on edge. Oh, it’s no fault of yours, poppet – you’re great with them. [Sigh.] I just don’t know what to do.

The thought hangs plainly in the air, unsaid: _And I can’t ask you to spy on my wife, can I?_

M:       It’s OK, I get it. You just need breathing space, eh? ‘It’s not love, just a meaningless biological exchange.’ _Her seventeen-year-old brain thinks it’s a good idea to quote from that awfully riveting novel she found in Mother’s lingerie drawer when she was twelve, although as soon as the words are out she wishes them unsaid._

B         [Worried, and gripping M’s forearms:] What? No! It was a great deal tenderer than that, and you know it was! OK, let’s say it was just ‘biological’ if it makes it easier for you. But please don’t ever believe that it meant nothing! It was…let’s see…a small, extra share of my abundant love…which I was overjoyed to give you when you most needed it. But that bit’s only going spare because of something which isn’t quite right in my marriage at the moment, and I really want to fix that. So, nice as it was, it can’t be for ever. You will find someone better, your own age, I’m sure.

           [Moving in closer, his hands creeping up towards her body…] But I hope you’ll stick around for a while, my honeylamb, because I might feel the need to share again before things are sorted out with J, and if I do – there’s no-one I’d rather share with than your sweet self! There, does that explain it OK?

He has the urge to kiss and caress her again – to make it less transactional; more friendly and warm. But is put off by the degree of false promise it might imply. _Too much like with J in the early days. Can’t actually love two women; that’s impossible, surely? Hell, adultery is confusing._ He nervously rubs his whiskers instead.

Glumly conscious of the passing hour, B goes through instead to the front-facing window, where he looks into the street to check that no‑one’s about. Time to escort the lovely M downstairs. Still, he holds her hand with reassuring squeezes as they descend.

In the hall, she turns and looks at him. For them both, there is that mental connection again, except now with the memory of physical pleasure behind it. _It’s only got stronger._ _Whoops._

B:        Thanks again, M.

 _It’s no use! When else will he get another chance?_ He cannot help pulling her back for a last, deep, parting kiss. _Kissing is essential to life. Women are where it’s at. And tits and clits are bloody marvels – I know I gave her a whale of a time with hers! I will honestly never simply use her. But we’d better keep whatever this is strictly under wraps._

B         [Whispers in her ear:] Already looking forward to our next meaningless biological exchange.

M        [Stage-whispers back:] Yes, **I** am, **Mr O…**

She pauses with her hand on the front door catch, hikes her handbag onto her shoulder and turns to her furry, golden Bumble B, still tantalisingly close. M savours the poignant electricity in the small gap before it must inevitably, sadly, widen – for who knows how long.

           And, ‘coum’ on…you must have worked out **what the O’s short for, **by now, eh?

M winks at his impish face, a-gleam with sudden understanding of her saucy meaning, made even clearer by the exaggerated roundness of her mouth as she formed the ‘O’, and slips out of the house to wander the streets for a while in a daze, before remembering to head to the market for that vital ring. She can go to the pictures by herself now; choose what to see, buy, eat. She can choose anything she likes to do while she polishes her fake engagement story for a select audience, but nothing she chooses tops the remembered buzz with B, or her dreams of Next Time. _Just hope I can act naturally to J tomorrow._ She pays no attention to the many heads that turn in the street, as she passes, trailing the magic of freedom and fulfilment. Young, yet full-grown; full of power; fairly dancing to life’s music. The bittersweet prospect of the affair’s inevitable ending way too distant to spoil her high.

B? Well, when he’s finished giggling with glee, he smacks his palm with his fist and congratulates himself – what a conquest! Not just young and sexy but witty, too! Who’d have known? She’d hardly conversed with him until today; he’d thought her well-brought-up and modest! Hah! Luckily not! B whisks his glowing, suddenly lighter body upstairs and rapidly scrawls a knockout second half to vie with G’s beginning,  completing what he suspects will be a perfect episode with a message but tons of gags and coincidentally, once he’s done with it, one or two girls in it for him – er…that is, his character – to chase (and maybe catch, this time, what the hell!). Well, it’s only acting, isn’t it? Not real? Hope it all gets past those BBC bods. Oh, they don’t seem to check it too closely; they still seem to think of it as a late-night highbrow comedy show. That’s a laugh in itself. He even dashes off some lyrics for a song for the soundtrack, as a welcome melody waylays his mind. Yes, I’m sure that tune’s new! Told you that girl was my muse. S’OK, it’s for work!

 

When his family return, B is the sprawling prince of the settee, cheroot on the go, reading the Beano and humming his new song, already committed to tape in outline.

His two unstoppable little girls rush in, totter over and pile onto him, waving their new toys, demanding tickles, telling Daddy about everything he’s missed: a lost kite; a huge ice cream sundae; a first go on the big swings; the funny dogs jumping on each other; a big shouty man; one, two, five, six squirrels; pressing lots of buttons in the lift; the games they played at the café and the chocolate cakes they ate, and dropped; on and on, with the first-time thrill of youth. J brings the bags in and sits down wearily in the armchair.

B         [Laughing blissfully through his writhing limpets:] Did you have a good time, too, Darling?

J:         Oh, yes. It was a beautiful afternoon. I’m sorry you couldn’t have come outside and enjoyed it with us, B. You could do with the exercise, instead of sitting down in here all day, and I do miss us being out together as a family; these two can be hard work! Although your writing is important, too. Did you finish it?

B:        Indeed I did, love, and thanks again for reminding me. Deadlines wait for no man! Go on, now – hop off Daddy, you wriggly rabbits! Grr! Woof, woof!

Girls scream and climb off their dad. K starts clamouring for caa-wwots in a fledgling Bugs Bunny voice and the littlun copies her sister. B stands up, smiling and stretching, to follow.

J has started to unpack and promises carrot sticks in five minutes. The girls go out into the tiny garden with their new toys; J goes to where B is standing grinning proudly through the open kitchen door at them, hands in pockets.

J:         You’d think they’d be tired by now, wouldn’t you? They really need more space than this, you know – I keep saying.  So, no more writer’s block, then?

B         [Studying his toes for a second:] Nope, vanished away; work done and dusted. [Perkily tilting his head:] Hey-hey! That means I’m all yours now, Darling!

Turning, he gives her a squeeze and a tickle. She prises his hands off and goes over to the sink.

J:         Not now, B! I’ve got to get the girls something to eat, then it’s bath, bed and dinner; you know the routine.

B:        I know, love! I meant tonight, of course. C’mon…bet you _fancy_ _it_ after all that fresh air, eh?

[He leans backwards over the draining board, peering around at his wife to wink playfully at her, but gets only a wry look…is this randy little powerhouse never satiated? Never for more than a few hours, truth to tell. That wonderful BJ’s effectively only livened him up by this point. Reinforcements have now arrived.]

Oh, yes, B also loves good old, honest-to-goodness straight _shagging_ and he hasn’t done any of _that_ for _far_ too long. He imagines slowly, seductively negotiating his way towards and entering J’s familiar haven…mmm, lovely; warm, welcoming; so stimulating… she deserves a great, long, considerate foreplay session first, of course; I’ll make sure I make her really yearn for me… Yes, until she actually _begs_ me to give her exactly what I know she wants…and must need by now, surely?

His wife having given no reply, he retreats, to stare moodily at her back. Unexpectedly, a black mood descends. What if he were just to stop pussy-footing around? Is _domination_ what she’s waiting for from him, in fact, despite her increasingly bossy attitude?

 _What do I have to do to make you **need** me?_  
  
B can remember a time and place in which blokes used to talk openly of ‘claiming their conjugal rights’ – by force, they meant – and, astoundingly, nobody expected the wife to complain. Yes, wasn’t it absolutely shocking? But so common. A less enlightened man than he, not so long ago, might have resolved the tension by simply _having_ his unprepared wife quickly, taking her back unto himself by silent surprise right where she was standing; pinning her vilely into ‘her place’ against the sink so that she couldn’t escape. There she is, and here he is, hungry for his own.

Uneasy, nay; disturbed, B backs off until his guilty carcase is pulled up short by the hard wood of the cupboards. But his untrustworthy brain hasn’t finished with him yet. With sickening ease, it slips a pall of ancient mores over his soul – _just testing it out for a second, you understand. I can fight this; I’m in full control. I think._ Biting his knuckle angrily, he appraises J’s mouth-watering, womanly backside, oscillating softly with work. Look at her enticing legs in those low heels…always loved my girlie’s legs… It would be nothing to wrench up such a short skirt, for a start, to clear the way. He knows he’s strong enough to overpower her. Then he’d only have to firmly yank down those stubborn little knickers, whip out his punishment truncheon, grab her provocative, squealing body (by mouth and tit would surely be the grip) and at long last ‘reclaim his rightful property’ vigorously from behind _(up and at’em; so hot!),_ her muffled cries of outrage only making him harder and meaner, until mere seconds later he (and _perhaps_ she?) exploded with swift, sadistic pleasure.

A second later, of course, follows the sickening realisation that the whole idea had just taken a step away from a hoary old joke and towards an actual, repellent vision of himself committing…go on, name it – Rape! What the hell was he thinking? And just feet away from their innocent little daughters. Violence against women is complete anathema to B – always has been. Where on earth did that awful scenario come from? He panics. Is there such a selfish part of his soul that might lead on to much darker acts, beyond the fairly harmless indiscretion of this afternoon? No, no, no! The unwanted ‘dirty film’ he’s just watched in his head, he sincerely hopes, merely sprang from a need to make the love of his life pay attention to him. He’d never, NEVER make such a vile fantasy a reality.

Unless… Unless J _asked_ him to _pretend_ to, of course! Oho, that would really be something else!! Cor, blimey, yes!!! I really wish she would ask for that. Or for just anything at all, please – I’d do anything she fancied. Why is it always me who seems to be doing the asking? Like married sex is something shameful?

Firmly, he pushes the confusing mess away, to concentrate on his familiar role: nice and supportive.

           Anything I can help with, love? Ah, I’ll put this lot away for you... [He busies himself with stowing the supplies.]  
  
           Darling, after tea, why don’t I do bedtime while you start dinner? Then we can enjoy an early night together, eh? We’ve still got a couple of bottles of your favourite tipple, remember!

J:         I don’t know. You always get them over-excited with your daft gibbon games. And wine’s full of hidden calories.

B:        Please! [Mimics Maurice Chevalier:] I can learn to be boring, if you’ll just give me a chance!

J:         I don’t ever want that, Silly Billy!

She pulls his endearingly beaky nose.

            Besides, your daftness makes us money! No, you just relax, I can handle the children. They’re mine, too and I only need to do all of it twice a week – oh, and how hard can it be if a teenager can do it?

She’s laughing now.

B:        _Gulp...hope she doesn’t want to hear my honest reply to **that** question! _

_Oh, damn, but now she thinks I’m calling her inadequate. She is too protective of the children; what does she think is the worst that can happen? You see; I do ask to take some of the load off her but she won’t let me. So every time I offer, it’s less and less natural. And now I bet she’ll say she’s tired after doing all that housework and just want to go to sleep. The Help was supposed to alleviate that. Well, um, today wasn’t a good example of how! But I will keep trying to get through to J._

_Oh, trust me! In the beginning, J and I could hardly leave our bed – it was great, she seemed to be just as ravenous as me! I only want that back. It must surely still be there somewhere?_

J, listen to B. Share and trust before he shifts his affection.  
Or he’ll suspect your heart of leaning in another direction.  
Whatever was in that little book, please forget it.  
You do realise what a draw B is? Even with his flaws?  
He’s about to get a lot more famous  
And (you may think illogically) more desirable. Watch out.

B, see if J wants to talk about anything.  
Yes, she likes making love, but after that, you never talk.  
Try being tender with your actual wife; less shallow.  
What’s on her mind?  
Are you scared to find out?

There is nothing like a woman –  
her behind  
and her mind.


End file.
